


Warmth

by Furorscribiendi



Series: Numb [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furorscribiendi/pseuds/Furorscribiendi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is left to deal in the blond Slytherin’s wake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation fic to Numb.

_____________________________________________

He was sick again. He had been for the last couple of days. His sleep was fitful and then around the crack of dawn, his stomach convoluted and he would dash to make yet another offering to the porcelain god in its temple of tiles. This time he sagged against the wall, staring up blankly at the clock he had mounted just beside the door. Seven in the morning; it was just as good that his stomach had woken him up; he had to get dressed and leave Hogwarts for the day.

He had a reading of a will to attend. Draco’s will.

It sent a wrenching through his already sore stomach just thinking about it…thinking about Draco and that day when everything had just crashed to his feet at the ground. He closed his eyes, feeling the bile bubble up his throat.

He hoped to God that he never saw anything like that again, finding a throng of students to push his way through to find a horror on the ground. He could still see it, the first drops of bright red against the snow as he pushed his way through. And then he saw it, Draco’s body, still elegant though sprawled in death. A bright cushion of bloodstained snow pillowed his head, blond hair tousled by the rush of wind. He could still see those grey eyes, staring blindly and eternally ahead, the small frozen smile that played on those lips he had only kissed mere minutes before…

He buried his face in his hands, biting his lip. It just didn’t seem conceivable that he would sit through a reading of his husband’s will only a month after his sui-his death. The wounds were still too raw, and he’d have to be in the same room as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. That he just couldn’t bear. Both of them would more than likely look at him as some little harlot who bewitched their only child.

A choked sob came from his throat as he rested his head on his knees and hot tears blurred his vision. He never head the gentle knock on his bathroom door or saw the two people enter.

“Harry…”

He looked up, seeing a blurry splotch that was large and brown and another that was violently red. Hermione and Ron.

“C’mon, mate, you gotta get going to the thing,” Ron said, patting him on the shoulder.

“You can do this, Harry,” Hermione said gently as she sat down beside him. “You can go and sit there with dignity. Forget what they might say.” She said ‘they’ as if it were something that needed to be flushed away.

”No, I can’t,” he sniffled. “I can’t be in the same room as them, it’s too hard. They’ll be there, there are bound to be questions-”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you’re going to let them win?!” Ron snapped. “If anything, go in there and rub it in their faces. Show them you are not scared of them or what they think. Force them to make the first move!”

“That’s not how I would have put it, but Ron does raise a god point. You know you can’t hide here forever. You have to emerge sometime. You should do this with as much dignity as you can as soon as possible.”

Harry sniffled and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I really don’t think I can.”

“And why not?” Hermione asked.

“I was sick again this morning,” he whispered. “Every time I have to stand up and sit back down, I feel kind of dizzy and like I’m going to throw up.” He didn’t say anything as Hermione glanced at Ron and linked her arm with his. “I’m sure they’d understand, not wanting vomit all over their robes.”

“See? There you go.” Ron grinned.

He managed a shaky smile as he rose slowly with Hermione’s help, pressing a hand to his stomach and walking back into the bedroom. Hermione and Ron went into the waiting room, leaving him to change. He took his time, paying careful attention to his clothes and robes and taking the time to drag a brush through his hair, though the effort was completely futile. He stood in front of the mirror taking in his appearance; he looked every inch the respectable wizard, aside from the red-rimmed eyes behind glasses. Slowly, he reached up and removed them, blinking a bit. Draco had always liked to take off his glasses, said he could really see him. He reached down to the dresser and picked up his wand, muttering the temporary vision correction spell.

Everything cleared up in a few moments, and he was left holding his glasses in one hand and his wand the other. He stared at them for a long while, attempting to quell the rising sickness in his stomach. He could do this. He would walk into room to hear Draco’s final wishes, Lucius be damned. He blinked back the fresh tears that threatened to spill loose, gave a sniffle, and placed the glasses on the polished surface beside Draco’s pillowed wand and unopened letter; the letter he still couldn’t bring himself to read. His eyes kept flitting between the reflection and what was in front of him, a lump developing in his throat. Merlin, was he going to cry over everything?

He dashed the back of his hand against his eyes hastily, took a deep breath, and walked out of thei-his bedroom. Hermione and Ron rose from their seats, smiling gently. It was comforting to have them there; if he had to go on his own, he doubted he would have even made it to Dumbledore’s office to take the Portkey. They silently escorted him up to Dumbledore’s office. When he stepped inside, he was surprised to see Snape there, though it shouldn’t have considering how Draco had regarded Snape.

“Ah, right on time.” Dumbledore said as he rose from his chair. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Yes,” Harry said in an oddly calm voice that didn’t seem to be his. “I am.”

Dumbledore nodded and set about finding a Portkey. Harry then felt himself being embraced in a very Molly Weasleyish hug.

“I’ll set up an appointment for you with Madame Pomfrey, all right? Don’t need you deteriorating any more do we?” Hermione said before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” he murmured in appreciation.

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t let them get to you, ok? You’re better than that.”

He nodded his head, taking a deep breath. “I won’t. I think we’d better get going now before we’re late.”

They nodded and stepped back as Dumbledore came forward with a tattered old book. Harry nodded his head in agreement as Dumbledore set it to return them after three hours. Anything after that and Snape would have to bring him back safely. He and Snape grasped the book, and five seconds later the familiar forward hooking sensation came in his navel, accompanied by the whirling rush. When it all came to a stop, he found himself standing in a large conference room with a large panel of windows revealing the midday London skyline.

Unfortunately for him, he landed right by the window. The vertigo combined with his already squeamish stomach set him running for the nearest wastebasket. When he managed to raise his head, he saw a box of tissue proffered from the corner of his eye. He didn’t ask any questions, simply taking it and cleaning himself up. He picked himself up slowly and turned around. Snape was already seated, as was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. It was the kindly wizard with a slight balding patch that stood beside him.

“Feel better?”

He nodded his head and found himself gently guided to the seat beside Snape’s. It gave a small exhalation as he sank into it. The wizard lawyer smiled as he looked around.

“I know this is hard for some of us, but I shall try to make this as expedient as possible. As it is one month since the unfortunate death and all required parties present, we may begin.” A pair of small, half moon glasses were pulled out and settled on the tip of a thin nose. “’I, Draco Aurelius Potter-Malfoy, being of sound mind and body, under no coercion or duress, curse or hex, enchantment or bewitchment…’”

He automatically tuned out the voice and folded his hands in his lap to stop them from trembling. Hopefully this would be a short will; if went on for anywhere over one or two hours, he was liable to break down into tears and have a fit. The lawyer kept reading and he focused his eyes just past him on the building opposite the one they were in, allowing only the buzz of words to wash over him. He was watching a pair of window washers on their pulley-operated bit of scaffolding doing their job when a throat being cleared loudly snapped him back to attention.

The lawyer smiled at him before continuing. “’…To one Harold James Potter-Malfoy, I bequeath the rest of my worldly possessions, be they monetary, real estate…’”

He couldn’t help but sit there looking completely dazed at the long list that was prattled off. Gracious Merlin, did Draco leave him the entire world?

“’…foreign or domestic, and the entirety of my personal effects.’” The lawyer took a long breath. “’…which shall be passed on to any offspring produced from our union.’ Gracious, he certainly was thorough.” Glasses were removed and the bridge of the thin nose rubbed briskly. “So, to recap briefly, various charities and organisations will receive lump sums, Severus Snape gets the cottages in Tintagel, Dover, Salisbury, and Bath and a generous…well, ludicrous, amount of money. Narcissa Malfoy will receive the other mansion in Birminhamshire and will be looked after by said Harold James Potter-Malfoy, of whom inherits everything and must pass it onto children…” the lawyer peered at him intently. “Shall we assume that you have conceived and are carrying a child?”

That seemed to reach right out and slap him awake. “Children? Child? I-I don’t know, maybe…possibly, I-I really don’t know.”

“I suggest you find out as soon as prudently possible, lest something unfortunate occur.” The lawyer’s glance slid to Lucius momentarily. “Now then, since that is-”

The soft sound of Lucius clearing his throat echoed in the room. The lawyer looked startled.

“Oh, yes, Lucius Malfoy, I forgot to read your bit.” The half-moon glasses were slid on again and papers were ruffled. “Ah yes, here we are. I warn you now; I read this to you as was dictated to me as per my instructions.”

There was a slight darkening to Lucius’ face that boded ill. The lawyer cleared his throat.

“To Lucius Malfoy, my dear father,” the pure sarcasm dripping from the words was startling. “I leave you with nothing but your own bile, hot and bitter in the back your throat, and the unpalatable knowledge that you are powerless. You can do nothing. Know that I, the one who escaped, am your ruin. You cannot contest my decisions. You know why. Mother knows why. And I knew why the entire time. You would do well to remember that. My last words to you are this: go fuck yourself, you pompous fool of a half-brother.”

There was a split second of silence. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh, gloat, or break down into tears at hearing that unique speech pattern he loved so much. Then, from the other side of the table came the sounds of Narcissa hyperventilating. He hazarded a look up to find the blonde woman indeed doing so, while Lucius had gone a sickly wan colour. The lawyer must have noticed this since he approached Snape and murmured something to make him escort the hysterical woman outside. A soft murmur to Lucius and the man had disappeared out the door as well. Harry doubted he would be coming back.

Harry, on the other hand, was completely puzzled. “What was that all about?” he asked quietly once the door closed. ”And why did…why was Lucius referred to as half-brother?”

The lawyer gave a heavy sigh. ”Because that’s that his true relation to Draco; not his true blood father, but merely his half-brother since they share they share the same blood father.”

“The same blood father?” he repeated hollowly.

“Have you heard of the term ‘droit du seigneur’?”

Nothing was said for a long moment. Draco had made the effort to teach him some French, even if he was abysmal at it. But Draco had made sure he knew of this. Droit du seigneur, the right of the lord to the first night with a slave’s new bride. But Draco had said it had changed, mutated by the aristocratic families for their own ends. “But surely you don’t mean…” he trailed off as the lawyer nodded.

“Draco Aurelius Malfoy never was Lucius Malfoy’s son. If anything, he was the true heir to the Malfoy name and Lucius was holding it in trust for him until he turned seventeen.”

“But then wh-” he stopped abruptly as the lawyer raised his hand.

“Wizarding law is full of archaic laws that aristocrats cling to. Usually children borne from droit du seigneur have inheritance preference over the other children. As well, the youngest child is often chosen to inherit an estate; something about the parents being older and the children being wiser.”

All he could do was blink in the face of this.

“You husband was quite clever, Mr. Potter-Malfoy. As his spouse, you were next in line to inherit along with whatever children you would have. It would take all your deaths and then some before Lucius had full claim to everything.”

“And then some?” Something went a bit cold inside him at hearing that.

“As Narcissa Malfoy is the natural birth mother, she would be next in line. And I daresay that with those resources she could finally rid herself of Lucius.”

“Finally?” he echoed, growing a bit number.

“Surely you’ve noticed there’s no love lost between Lucius and Narcissa. I believe she was more in love with Aurelius than Lucius.”

“Draco was a love child?”

“In a manner of speaking. He should have been their pride and joy. He would still be alive were it not for Lucius.”

“What do you mean?” His voice went cold and hard that. The little bit inside of him that was cold crystallised solid.

The lawyer didn’t say anything for a long moment. “He had to do it when he was at school. If he tried it at home, Lucius would have put a stop to it immediately, and neither you nor Narcissa would have been safe now,” There came a weary sigh. “He didn’t say it directly, but Lucius left him two options; take the Dark Mark or die. He had no way out; he was quite literally a dead wizard. He would have been hunted down until he was killed.”

He had to blink rapidly to fight down the tears.

“By doing this, he gave you complete incontestable control of the Malfoy name and protection from just about any and everything else. I hope you make the Malfoy name stand for something he could not. True, he was quite the prick and you either loved or hated him, but you had to admit he was still a good person trapped from all that crap Lucius threw on him.”

He nodded his head with a rather shaky breath as he looked at his robed knees. “I…is that…what about…” He couldn’t choke the words out.

“That’s all, Mr. Potter-Malfoy. There’ll be a bit of paperwork later on in the week. All it will require is your signature.”

All he could manage was to nod his head mutely.

“I’ll send it in the week. Perhaps you would like a moment alone?”

He nodded his head again. The lawyer nodded and made a motion to leave when he stopped for a moment.

“I almost forgot. This arrived at my offices this morning with the instruction to give it directly to you.”

A slim black book was placed in front of him. The lawyer squeezed his shoulder and left the room quietly. He looked at it warily, trying to not breathe too much. The scent of the cologne that Draco used clung to it thickly, as if it had just been in the room with him. When he managed to lift a hand to pull the book closer to him, it trembled badly. A large lump settled in his throat as he opened to the first page. The scent seemed to assault him even more, and the date made his head swim. It was one week before he died. A journal of the entire week before Draco died. He riffled through the book, unable to look at each page for more than a second. By the time he reached the last page, he found himself looking at the date of Draco’s death and four words. Four words that he knew the meaning of. Those four words Draco had whispered to him when he was pretending to sleep.

“Je t’aime, Harry,” He croaked out thickly as his vision blurred. “I love you, Harry… je t’aime, Harry.”

He slammed the book shut loudly and gave a choked sob. Apparently those sounds had been loud enough to cause someone to open the door and look in. He couldn’t see whom as he looked up, but he didn’t quite care at the moment. He gave a wail of grief and buried his face in his hands, body wracked by sobs. Gentle hands slid over his shoulder, and all he knew was that someone was hugging him. He just kept crying and crying, not taking much notice of anything else.

He never quite noticed the book placed in his hands, his hand placed on the Portkey, or the whirling tug. He never noticed when he was taken back to their…to his rooms and settled in bed. And he certainly didn’t notice that he cried himself to sleep, clutching the book tightly in his hands.

_____________________________________________

The sky was a dull, sombre grey with a slight breeze. The thin layers of snow on the pitch bore marks of the Quidditch game that had happened just hours ago. He had attended the game, but afterwards he had simply sat out here, bundled in his scarf and mittens. It was a cold March day, and it was perfect. Hermione and Ron had gone inside long ago after staying with him as long at they dared.

He wasn’t sure when he started to seek it out, to enjoy it, but there was something in the cold that comforted him. He enjoyed seeing the way his breath condensed into a thin or thick mist with every breath he made. It nipped a bit at his cheeks, and they flushed in an effort to stay warm. It was almost fascinating the way it seeped into his fingers, numbing and bringing a tranquil calm with it. He shifted, curving his arms around the bulge in his stomach. The sky was just tinged with the deepening colours of sunset when a shadow fell over him.

“May I?”

He looked up to find Narcissa Malfoy standing there, her cloak pulled tightly around her and the cowl just resting on the edge of her forehead. His brow furrowed in consternation, but he nodded his head anyway. The sound of delicate fabric coming to rest on the rough wood seemed unnaturally loud as Narcissa placed herself beside him. The sky was coloured with dark purples, blues, and a touch of black-blue when she finally spoke.

“That was a very bold thing you did. And a very effective purge as well.”

The silence came again as he simply nodded his head. He knew what she was referring to. Once all the paperwork had been signed, he had asked Dumbledore to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, and any other trustworthy Aurors. What he offered them was the chance to get into the Malfoy Mansion and seize whatever illegal contents had been placed within. It only took a few hours to put out a warrant for Lucius Malfoy’s arrest. He’d been caught in a few days. That was when he offered them the chance to go over the monetary funds to see just what exactly had been going towards Voldemort’s cause. They found plenty. The final nail in the coffin for Lucius was when they used Veritaserum on him. After that, he’d been tossed in Azkaban and received the Dementor’s Kiss a few days later. In one fell swoop, he’d gotten rid of Lucius, elevated the Malfoy name to a good status, and sent Voldemort and the remaining Death Eaters that managed to avoid the massive capture operation into hiding.

“He loved this time of day,” she said quietly. “I think he felt at home in the twilight…in this time between day and night.”

“A time of shadows,” he murmured, still staring down at the pitch. “Is there a – ”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “To explain. Maybe to atone for not trying harder to negate that bastard’s influence.”

Had they had this conversation a month before, he wouldn’t have believed it. It was only recently that he found the strength to go through Draco’s things. And suddenly, some of the things he had talked about in an abrupt and veiled manner made sense upon reading his journals. Some of the things the lawyer said made sense as well. And from seeing those words that were written from the earliest age until recently, he saw that Lucius had trapped, coerced, and terrified what could have been a modestly happy family.

“Explain what?” he asked. “What could you possibly do to atone?”

“Surely you’ve wondered about Draco’s father.”

“Aurelius?” He gave a shrug. “I’ll admit I was curious but more about his conception. That whole droit du seigneur incident must have taken place about twenty or thirty years ago.”

“True,” Narcissa nodded her head. “That night set the stage for what became a twenty year long affair. Draco had some rather garbled facts. I had no doubt that the lawyer informed you of everything Draco had informed him. I would like you to have the clear picture. Obviously, this troubled him very much when he found out…if only I had known…”

He nodded. “Before you start…why did you act so…” his words trailed off as Narcissa gave a bitter smile.

“It was always necessary to act with Lucius around. He could bring out the complete and utter bastard in anyone. Being trapped in a marriage for thirty odd years to the son of the man I truly wanted forced me to re-evaluate some of my approaches to things. I know I am a bitch, but…” she trailed off.

“But you’re still a good person underneath it all,” he said for her.

Narcissa nodded, and she seemed to relax a bit. There was a momentary silence before she spoke again. “Aurelius died when Draco was only three. I doubted that he remembered much of his father. There was a reading of his will at which I was not present. But when Lucius came back, he was far from pleased. Now, this is the fairly confusing part. In essence, Draco was conceived that night all those years ago, but have you ever heard of a suspension spell?”

“Professor Flitwick mentioned them. It’s a very complex charm, but it can place a person into a sort of stasis. And at the caster’s discretion, they can bring the person out of stasis.”

“Stasis for almost twenty years,” Narcissa murmured. “Lucius never knew, but once Draco was born he just seemed to know…I think it was the eyes.”

“The eyes?” he repeated hollowly.

“Lucius inherited his mother’s eyes, that cold, cold grey. Aurelius had these wonderful grey-blue eyes. They looked more grey than blue, but you could see it sometimes…” she trailed off for a moment, lost in memories. “Surely you know what I am referring to.”

“I do,” he murmured; sometimes there were flashes of a faint blue in Draco’s eyes. “Let me get this straight…Draco was conceived during that night…but you used a suspension spell to delay his birth for close to twenty years?”

“Precisely. I had no intention of bearing a child to Lucius. In a way, Draco was my love child.” She gave a heavy sigh. “Only he could never really know it, not with Lucius present. I tried to raise him better, but I was too terrified of what Lucius would do if I did too much. I didn’t want to lose the son I loved and the only thing I had to remind me of Aurelius.”

He looked down at Narcissa’s hands which were curled tightly. He reached over and settled his hand on hers. “You did enough. It came out in a rather warped way, but you did enough.”

Narcissa rested her other hand on top of his and squeezed gently. “I wasn’t able to be there completely for my son, but if you would let me…”

Another silence came as Narcissa’s eyes travelled down his stomach and stayed there. He picked up Narcissa’s hands and placed them squarely on his stomach.

“How far along are you?”

“Four months. Madame Pomfrey says it twins.”

“Have you –”

“Sometimes you might,” he paused as he felt it, “feel a bump.”

There was a look of complete awe in Narcissa’s eyes. “I think this was why he did it also. He knew…he did what I couldn’t do for him; protected them…”

It was his turn to squeeze her hand gently. She looked ready to burst into tears. “I would be honoured if you would be a part of their lives,” he said gently.

Narcissa made a small sound as she ducked her head and raised a hand to make wiping motions. When she looked back up, her eyelashes were clumped together. She titled her head to the side slightly, looking at him as if she was searching for something. Then she gave a hesitant and crooked smile.

“No wonder he was so happy with you…” she murmured before she rose. “We should get going back inside. It’s getting colder, and you haven’t eaten dinner yet, have you?”

He looked up to find that twilight had passed and it was night now. The air was a bit cooler, and his breath condensed much more thickly than before, as did Narcissa’s. He stood slowly, Narcissa helping him. They made their way from the Quidditch stands crossing the field. Their steps crunched in the light snow and he paused, looking back at the large stadium, a black silhouette against the blue-black of the starry sky.

“No, I haven’t eaten dinner yet,” he murmured as he turned around and they started walking once more. “Besides, I rather like the cold.”

_____________________________________________


End file.
